


footsteps in the dark

by postalcoast



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming In Pants, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, lap dance, modern arthur being into r&b is a hc im standing by, this fic is so self-indulgent it aint even funny, um...yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29552592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postalcoast/pseuds/postalcoast
Summary: A few moments pass before Arthur speaks again, and his tone is something John can’t really decipher. “I didn’t know you could dance.”He doesn’t really sound amused about the whole thing, though, so whatever defense John has prepared about Arthur making a joke at his expense goes forgotten.Instead, John just glances over at him again, and maybe it’s his turn to find this kinda funny. “I can’t.”
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	footsteps in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> me 🤝 modern john  
> vibing to slowed tiktok jams on youtube while makin pasta

John never has been much of the dancing type. 

Even when he and Abigail used to go out on the weekends, to bars, to clubs, to concerts, wherever. Even with Abigail goading him on, dragging him to the dancefloor or whatever space that was clear enough that had enough range for someone to dance in. 

He couldn’t dance, for one. Any attempt made would’ve just embarrassed him. 

That little push and pull hand move - something similar to a four-count swing only less coordinated, was pretty much the only dance he did with Abigail when she occasionally managed to convince him. 

He’s danced a few times with Sean - with him or along with him, albeit they were verging on tipsy or full-blown drunk, so any details about those instances have more or less slipped from John’s mind. 

So, the mood to just  _ dance _ rarely strikes him. 

He’s danced by himself, sure - when there’s nobody around to witness it and it just kind of happens without John thinking about it. 

In today’s case, while he was making dinner for himself and Arthur. 

And it’s nothing too fancy or tedious or attention-consuming, so when Arthur goes out to pick up some of the last-minute ingredients they forgot to buy at the grocery store, John turns on some music. 

Their TV in the living room has speakers that are way louder than the ones on his phone, so he opens up the Youtube app and plays music through that. 

Sure, Arthur has a record player that Hosea bought him for his birthday a couple of years back, but the only thing John could play on that would be the LPs Arthur has and well, this is just easier.

Just something to fill the silence until Arthur gets back. 

The songs are shuffled, a few of them John doesn’t particularly like but doesn’t bother changing. 

A few John does like, which leads to him swaying on the spot in front of the counter, and he doesn’t really think about it.

And speaking of Arthur’s LPs, John’s pretty sure the song that’s playing now is one that he’s heard Arthur listening to before. 

Some Isley Brothers song that John remembers kinda liking, only this version is a bit slowed down. 

It sounds good so John keeps it on, still swaying as he busies himself with the meal preparation.

***

He doesn’t even hear Arthur come in. 

What he does hear is Arthur clear his throat a few feet behind him, and John becomes very aware of how badly he must be dancing. And of course, his first reaction is to get embarrassed or get defensive about it.

John turns around on the spot, a bit startled, and Arthur’s just _ looking _ at him. 

John’s got the remote sitting within his reach and from this angle, he can easily point in through the space where their kitchen and living room joins together and turn off the TV. So he does, and it’s quiet again.

John sits the remote back down, gaze drifting down to the bag of groceries dangling from Arthur’s hand, now completely forgotten, then back up to Arthur’s face. 

“Hey,” John says, weighing the word out a bit, and Arthur’s moving again.

“Hey,” Arthur says, walking past John and over to the counter beside him, sitting down the bag on top of it. 

He isn’t looking at John anymore, but instead has his attention focused on the contents he’s currently pulling out. Just as casual as John’s ever saw him. “All the pasta they had was spaghetti and bow-tie, so I got bow-tie.”

“That should work, right?” He holds up the box of pasta for John to look at, and John can still feel the heat in his face. 

John diverts his attention to what he’s doing, sparing the box a quick glance. “I guess.”

He sees Arthur shrug slightly in his peripheral view as he finishes emptying out the bag, and silence steals the moment once again.

A few moments pass before Arthur speaks again, and his tone is something John can’t really decipher. “I didn’t know you could dance.”

He doesn’t really sound amused about the whole thing, though, so whatever defense John has prepared about Arthur making a joke at his expense goes forgotten. 

Instead, John just glances over at him again, and maybe it’s his turn to find this kinda funny. “I can’t.”

Arthur meets his gaze for a second, still nonchalant enough that John can’t entirely tell if he’s being serious, and he moves over to where John’s standing. Comes up behind him, reaching around to grab something sitting on the counter in front of John. 

A familiar move, sure - with a kitchen as small as theirs, they’re having to maneuver around each other all the time. 

Something also familiar, is Arthur’s voice, now. Kinda husky - similar to how it gets when Arthur first wakes up, similar to how it gets after they’ve just fucked. 

“Could’ve fooled me.”

***

It doesn’t get brought up again until a few hours later, after they’ve eaten and had a few beers. 

John’s tipsy enough that he just laughs when Arthur mentions it again - something along the lines of how he wished John would let him see him dance like that again, or maybe how he’d like it if John would dance  _ for _ him like that. 

Their previous back and forth had been casual enough, like it always is, and there’s nothing leading John to believe that _ this _ statement isn’t part of that. Hell, Arthur’s expression doesn’t even change when he says it - he’s still just lounged back on the couch, one arm slung over the back of it where John sits beside him. 

“Yeah?” 

Arthur glances over at him, then, and shrugs - a slight jerk of his shoulder. “Yeah.”

John pauses for a moment, almost like he’s searching Arthur’s face for any underlying signs of amusement or facetiousness. Although Arthur’s expression doesn’t provide him with any of these signs, John still snorts anyway, turning his attention back to the TV. “Shut up.”

“What?” Arthur asks. “’m not jokin’, John - I’m bein’ serious.”

“Yeah,  _ okay _ ,” John replies, about as incredulously as he can manage. 

Out of the corner of his eye, John thinks he sees Arthur put his hands up like he’s surrendering the topic. Then, a simple, “Okay,” like he’s willing to just leave it at that.

And maybe Arthur is, but also maybe John _ isn’t _ . 

John glances back to him, his tone still a bit disbelieving. “You seriously want me to dance for you?” 

“If you want to.”

“Like what - a  _ lapdance _ or somethin’?”

“Sure,” Arthur says, completely effortless. “If you want to.”

“Yeah,” John finds himself hesitating again, some last-minute doubt making its presence known in his thoughts. “And you’ll just end up laughin’ at me.”

“No, I won’t,” Arthur objects quietly, and he sounds sincere about it. “Promise.”

And he actually pulls his arm out from where it was nearly draped around John’s shoulders, and holds out his pinky at John, offering it as some sort of final word. A promise - a pinky promise.

John huffs out a laugh again but he accepts it - reaching out to link his own pinky with Arthur’s. 

Arthur jostles their hands slightly like that emphasizes it somehow before stretching his arm out along the back of the couch again. 

Maybe it’s the ardent look Arthur’s giving him right now - almost like he’s admiring John without him even having to do anything yet, that pushes him over the edge into finally and fully considering it. 

“Okay,” John says, and he’s smiling to himself when he reaches over to grab the remote, switching the TV to the home screen. “What song?”

“Don’t matter.”

“How ‘bout that one I was playin’ earlier?” John scrolls down to the Youtube app and opens it. “You like that song, don’t you?” 

Of course, John knows Arthur likes the song, seeing as that fact alone is what got John listening to it in the first place.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, and as if reading John’s thoughts - “you do too, apparently.”

John flashes him a quick grin over his shoulder. He’s already a bit giddy from the excitement of trying something new. “Maybe your taste in music is starting to rub off on me.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, and John doesn’t have to look over at him again to tell he’s smirking. “Who knows, maybe I might start listening to those punk rock bands of yours.”

“Yeah, right.”

John stands up from the couch to push the coffee table back a bit to give himself some room, and he starts the song, moving to stand in front of where Arthur sits. 

Arthur’s a picture-perfect example of casualness right now, both arms slung over the back of the couch, legs spread out - a clear invitation. John knows Arthur’s probably doing this to project some of the confidence onto him, and it helps, since the awkwardness of him being seen dancing by Arthur earlier this evening could easily reappear at any moment if he let it.

John sways his hips a little bit, taking in the way Arthur’s eyes automatically drift there with the movement. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” John says, a little sheepish, his own self-consciousness threatening to take over for a split second. Under any other circumstances, he might think this whole thing is just embarrassing, but the way Arthur’s looking at him won’t let him believe that this time, somehow.

“You’re doin’ fine,” Arthur reaches out with an outstretched hand, gesturing for John to take it and move closer. “C’mere.”

John takes Arthur’s hand and straddles his lap, not letting their bodies touch apart from where his knees are hugging Arthur’s thighs. Arthur moves his hands to rest on John’s hips, letting them be guided by John’s movements. 

John watches Arthur watching him, the way his eyes travel down John’s torso and then trail right back up to his face. The way Arthur absentmindedly chews on his lower lip, barely grazing at the skin with his teeth. The way his throat looks when he swallows after John dips his hips a little low. 

John moves his hands to hold onto Arthur’s shoulders for support, trailing them up until his fingers are tracing along the exposed skin of Arthur’s neck, and then into his hair. Arthur tilts his head back into the touch.

John finds it surprisingly easy once he finds a rhythm and sticks to it, and although this probably isn’t the most graceful lapdance Arthur’s ever received, he doesn’t let on like it isn’t. 

Grinding his hips a little lower, John almost relishes at the short little huff of breath Arthur lets out through his nose. 

Arthur slides one of his hands up underneath the fabric of John’s t-shirt, his palm trailing up John’s stomach and then back down again. John decides to do them both a favor and discards the shirt entirely, pausing briefly to pull it over his head, and Arthur helps him. 

And indulging in another unspoken favor, John grinds his hips down all the way, and Arthur’s just as hard as he is. Arthur matches the movement, his own hips thrusting upward a bit. 

“Jesus, John,” Arthur breathes out, and his hand comes up to the back of John’s head, guiding him in for a kiss, and John grins against Arthur’s lips.

Taking a silent victory in a competition to see who would break first. A competition John wasn’t looking for in the beginning, but as this went on, found might be an interesting conclusion. When he and Arthur did anything involving this much teasing and feather-light touches, it usually turned into a contest. 

Both he and Arthur were competitive and stubborn as hell, there’d probably never be an ending to that.

Arthur’s kisses are about as uncoordinated and sloppy as John guesses his own dancing to be. All tongue, licking up against the roof of John’s mouth, against his molars. John hears the song end, then another one from John’s playlist begins. John’s still moving his hips, but its not necessarily in rhythm to the music anymore. 

Arthur’s hands move down to the front of John’s pants and starts unbuttoning them, and he has to break the kiss to glance down to see what he’s doing. John’s stopped his movements long enough to help Arthur out but he still fumbles with the buttons a bit, almost like he’s hurried or in a daze. Either one could be likely.

He gets them open enough that his hands can easily slide inside John’s jeans, past his hips, and over his ass, not bothering to interfere with the extra layer of John’s boxers. Just enough for Arthur to be a fucking tease about it. 

One less layer between him and Arthur, more or less, but Arthur’s still fully clothed. John wishes he wasn’t, but he can get off just fine like this, too. 

John picks up the pace again, leaning down to kiss Arthur again, and Arthur meets him half-way. Matching John’s thrusts, matching his kisses - both of them chasing the familiar inevitable. Arthur groans into John’s mouth when he comes, sounding nearly like it’d been punched out of him. 

They spend a good moment or so after that just trying to catch their breath. Mouths still lingering over one another, John’s forehead resting against Arthur’s. John can hear the song being interrupted by an advertisement on the TV behind him, forgotten and abandoned.

“You okay?” Arthur asks, his voice quiet and still a little punched out sounding, and John gives him a nod in reply.

“You?” John’s own voice doesn’t sound that much better.

“Yeah,” Arthur says before pressing another small kiss to the corner of John’s mouth, and John climbs off of him, grabbing for the remote and turning the TV off completely. 

A few minutes later, they’re both in the shower, and John’s got shampoo in his hair and he’s letting Arthur massage it into his scalp because it always feels nice when he does.

Arthur says, “Thought you said you didn’t know what you were doin’.” And his tone reminds John of the way Arthur was looking at him earlier - fond; admiringly so, almost. 

John can’t see him because he’s got his eyes closed, and Arthur pulls his hands away long enough for John to tilt his head back underneath the water.

“I didn’t.”

When John opens his eyes, Arthur’s smiling at him - which he knew he was already. He knew that without even having to look. 

Arthur shrugs, all nonchalant and casual. “Could’ve fooled me.”

**Author's Note:**

> yeah the song that i had intended for john to be listening to was "footsteps in the dark" by the isley brothers for like no other reason than I've been listening to it for like two weeks straight (thanks gta 4) & it's my new favorite song :)


End file.
